


Vices and Virtues Make Whole the Shattered Soul

by cyncitymojo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hell Trauma, Hurt Sam Winchester, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Season/Series 06, Soulmates, Supernatural Reverse Big Bang Challenge 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-01 17:56:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyncitymojo/pseuds/cyncitymojo
Summary: After spending time in the Cage with Lucifer, Sam comes back broken. His soul is shattered, and he's become several images of himself. He needs to find a way to piece himself back together and he cannot do it alone. The question is, can he do that and still be the brother and man he once was?





	Vices and Virtues Make Whole the Shattered Soul

**Author's Note:**

> **Art Title:** SHATTERED SOUL  
>  **Prompt Number:** S2007  
>  **Artist:** [jdl71](https://jdl71.livejournal.com/)
> 
> Prompt:  
> 
>
>> After spending time in the cage with Lucifer, Sam comes back broken. His soul is shattered and he’s an image of his former self. He has to find a way to piece himself back together. The question is, can he do that and still be the brother and man he once was?
> 
>   
> Folks, here it is! My first Reverse Bang Challenge (first any Bang!) and it was a blast! I am so very appreciative of my amazing artist [jdl71](https://jdl71.livejournal.com/) and her fabulous work! Every single piece sparked inspiration and emotion within me. Thank you, Darlin'!
> 
> Go check it out [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16827190)!
> 
> Also a heartfelt thanks to my betas [jessie_cristo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessie_cristo/pseuds/jessie_cristo) & [Jerzcaligrl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jerzcaligrl/pseuds/Jerzcaligrl). Y'all kept me grounded and focused and helped immensely. Thank you.
> 
> Sorry for yelling, lol. I am just so excited! Hope y'all enjoy the story.

_“Dean… Dean…! DEAN!”_ The disembodied echo amplified until there was an explosive **‘CRACK!’** Dean bolted upright in bed. He couldn’t tell whether he was dreaming. He thought he’d never hear that voice again. It had been ten months since Dean had watched as the one person he’d vowed to always protect, his younger brother Sam, jumped into the pit and damned himself to Lucifer’s cage.

~~~~~

_Tall, brave, and elegantly graceful, Sam looked completely at peace with his decision when he fell, taking the devil and the Archangel Michael with him. Michael had commandeered their half-brother Adam to join the epic fight. He’d trapped his grace within his alternate vessel and his fate was sealed._

_Dean had done the only thing he could. He’d arrived and put himself in the middle of the battlefield to show Sam he hadn’t been in the fight alone. That action had turned the tide of the prophesied end of days. Though Lucifer had nearly killed Dean with Sam’s hands, Dean would not have done anything differently had he to do it over._

Dean sat still, his eyes straining to focus in the dark motel room while striving to catch his breath. He’d thought the nightmares were starting to taper off, but this one was intense. He could still feel something was awry. He’d drawn his knife from under the pillow and was reaching for his gun as well when he spotted it.

There, across the room, was an old, weathered chest of drawers with a large mirror set atop it. He hadn’t bothered to invest too much attention in it earlier because he’d been exhausted after the hunt he had completed that day. He knew, however, that the mirror was intact when his head hit the pillow. Now, said mirror was hideously cracked, though there was no hint as to why or how it got that way.

Dean let the gun stay in its hiding spot and slowly lifted himself to his knees to inch closer to the foot of the queen-sized bed. He didn’t want to chance stepping on any broken glass. He also didn’t want to get too close in case this was some sort of ‘Bloody Mary,’ vengeful spirit situation.

In the still dark room, Dean strained to make out the shards of glass. He could see that although they were completely divided by lines from the center to the wooden edge, they showed no signs of being loose or giving way. There were no fragments or chips. This was not a normal break.

Dean finally stood up and approached the dresser. He began to see what appeared to be different scenarios that were playing out. Dean’s heart began pounding as the scenarios came into focus one at a time, and he saw his brother in different stages of torture. He put his hands on the glass then and screamed for his brother. The glass felt flawless, and as soon as the scenes came into focus, they and the fractures vanished.

A flash from the window next to the hotel room door caught his attention in his peripheral. There was a short silence, then frantic pounding on the door. Then, silence consumed everything once again.

“Sam…? SAMMY?!” Dean went to the door and wasted no time flinging it wide. Sam was there, barely standing, barely conscious. He swayed in the threshold, his eyes widened with recognition, and then he completely collapsed into his older brother’s arms. Dean dropped the blade he held in his hand to catch Sam before he hit the floor.

He stood staring at the frail, battered man that he held up without effort. He hadn’t gotten a decent enough look at the fractures in the glass to know just what his brother had gone through, but he’d been through enough himself to conjure up a solid image in his mind. He was so bloody, so bruised and wounded, that Dean couldn’t tell where the cuts ended, or if he was missing any parts.

He carried -at this point, it was carrying because Sam was completely unresponsive- his brother’s frame over to the bed and lay him down on the comforter as gently as he could. He couldn’t celebrate that Sammy was alive just yet due to the amount of emergency triage that was needed first. The man was barely breathing, let alone moving. Dean first had to get Sam clean, so he could make sure he had all his fingers, toes, ears, and that his nose was still attached to his face.

At the first touch of a cool, wet washcloth, Sam startled and began to fight with what modicum of strength he had. Dean had to reassure him the entire time that it was he who was trying to help Sam, that it was not a trick. For some reason, he was back on earth. Finally, he got Sam clean enough to see that he was at least physically intact despite his devastating wounds.

Dean tried talking to him, asking him how he got back. How on earth did he escape Hell, let alone the Cage and two psychopathic archangels bent on doing as much damage to any human in reach as possible? Unfortunately, all Sam could do was curl even further into the fetal position, randomly cringing and shaking. His screams were evident on his gaping, twisted features yet no sound escaped his throat. His eyes remained tightly squeezed shut and tears seemed to thaw from long frozen lashes.

Sam awakened fighting again, blind to where he was or with whom. He simply felt trapped and did the first thing he thought he should. He felt himself fall the short distance to the floor before he opened his eyes.

_“Eyes closed is better. It never hurts less, but at least you can’t see what they’re ripping you apart with. Just wait for it to be over, ‘cuz you know it will just start again.”_

_“Shut it, shrimp. It is always better to look your opponent in the face, even if you’re losing. God, I am so glad to no longer be part of your whimpering ass. Maybe now I can go kill those assholes without you all holding me back!”_

_“You’re one to talk. So irritable and bitchy, seriously you need to get yourself laid. I will never understand why you all were such prudes. If I hadn’t been so repressed, the devil never would have been able to use him against us.”_

Hearing multiple voices, he blinked and squinted trying to focus on his surroundings and exactly who was around him. When they went quiet, he heard water running, but only for a moment. After it stopped, Sam heard a door open. He felt the atmosphere change slightly as if it were going to rain. Then, he suddenly heard the voice that had always made everything alright.

“Oh shit, Sammy! I was only gone a few minutes in the shower. Damn, I guess I should have known you’d wake up as soon as I wasn’t watching. Here, lemme help you up.”

“Dean?” Sam’s voice sounded like he’d had a few razors in his throat. It was not surprising that he felt that way too. “Where…? Can’t see…”

“Hey, shh. You’ve been out for a few days, this is the first time you’ve even tried speaking since... Well, let’s get some real liquids in you and maybe some food first okay?” Dean looked at Sam with his no argument face, and Sam relaxed enough to sit on the bed. His eyes slowly began to focus. He’d apparently been wrapped in motel blankets and had launched himself to the floor fighting them.

Dean brought him some water to start with, but had some chicken broth waiting on the small dinette table. The water was room temperature, which Sam was thankful for but unable to tell Dean why yet. He had to find out if the other people were still in the room. Why had they just gone silent? After a few moments of the water staying down, Sam tried the broth. It was warm and soothing and helped his throat feel a lot less like he’d swallowed shards of broken glass. He hadn’t realized how eternally empty his stomach was until he looked up from an empty bowl.

“Dean?” Sam gritted out. “Why didn’t anyone else help me up from the floor? Don’t tell me you got all ‘Mama Bear’ over me and kicked everyone out.”

“Whatcha talkin’ about kiddo? There’s no one else here. But I do want to talk to you about a few things if you’re up to it now.” Dean spoke slowly in a calming tone as if he was wary of Sam, or something connected to him. “You seemed to be having conversations in your sleep. It happened a few times over the past few days before you went totally silent last night.”

“Sorry man, I uh, I can’t really remember. When I try, I just get this massive pain like an ice pick stabbing through my temple… ahh! Damn it!” Sam was hunched over, tensing in pain. Then after a moment, he slumped back against the headboard, silent and still.

“Sam? C’mon man, I need to find out if you’re alright. We can’t stay here much longer.” Dean placed his hand onto Sam’s shoulder to try to shake him a little when Sam jolted awake. He started yelling, calling Dean names and cussing enough to shame a sailor. Then he began to growl out the cruelest things.

“You don’t need a fucking thing! You who wanted to protect him so damn much that he wasn’t anywhere near prepared for the shit storm he had to crawl through. You’d think since you were the first one to experience how things ran down there you would’ve told him what to expect! But no, you tucked it in a deep, dark little corner because you were too fucking guilty to admit that you liked it in the end! Don’t worry, hero, I protected them.”

“Stop! Don’t talk to him like that. It’s not his fault we couldn’t take the real world. He’s not the one who turned us into a monster. We went where we should have gone. We just didn’t fit in at first. Maybe that was better cuz, in the end, he liked me too much. It doesn’t matter now, we’re safe. Right… De?”

The entire time Sam’s head hung down as if he were talking in his sleep. But right then, upon saying his brother’s nickname he looked toward Dean, but his eyes were unfocused. It was like he was looking through him. Sam smiled, and what chilled Dean through to his marrow was that it was so completely not-Sam. He calmed himself because this was not some possession. He tried to make use of the moment to figure out what was going on with Sam.

“Who are you? What do you want with Sam?”

“I am one of several, though I would hardly count myself worthy among the rest.” Sam hung his head again. “When he extracted me, I appeared as a vulnerable twelve-year-old kid. To inhabit one so young, so small; even the devil was shocked. When the disbelief wore off, he got excited. We are usually whole, complete, contained within The Balance. Vices and Virtues working in tandem. We reside in all; we are ancient.”

“Sammy?”

“A part of him, yes. I am Acedia, his despondency and depression, his fear, anxiety, and sorrow. He would hide me from the outside, tuck me away and distract himself with other things, but I was always there. Historic Christianity conceptualized me as Sloth. Not exactly a pretty name, but I don’t care.”

While Sam was out again, Dean called Bobby. A name like Acedia and its connection to historic Christianity and one of the “Seven Deadly Sins,” Sloth, had to mean something. Bobby had to have books about theology and one of them had to have something on all this. Bobby said he would work as quickly as he could and call him back, but if Dean could move Sam he should think about heading to his place.

Dean told him he hadn’t been able to move him other than the short times he was conscious for bathroom breaks. He’d barely been able to get him to eat. He didn’t get to finish telling him about what he’d had to do in lieu of showers. “Damn it, boy, that is common sense. No need to have him crackin’ his head in a shoddy motel bathtub. I didn’t need the visual, idjit.”

Dean smiled and relaxed some for the bit of normalcy Bobby offered. He’d never been more worried about his brother. ‘What if he made it all the way back here for me to just fail him again?’ Dean immediately shook off that thought. Sam would make it through this.

The next few days occurred in a similar fashion. Dean met the serrated, disjointed portions of Sam’s shattered soul. He gradually pieced together a broad idea of what had happened to Sam during his century in Hell. The things he learned brought him to tears and he knew he hadn’t even scratched the surface. No wonder there seemed to be so much animosity each time the mean one -Ira aka Irascibility, or Wrath- decided to get growly and protective of Sam when he would shut down.

He made Dean feel like a Grade ‘A’ asshole every chance he could get, but he would always back off and leave when one of the others would chime in and admonish him. “You will eventually meet the others, but we try not to crowd the place when Sam is awake. It is apparently the best we can do for him without The Balance since we are non-corporeal. That was the only easy thing about being in the depths of Hell. We had all the space we could handle, even if it was lonely,” Invidia (Envy) had supplied sarcastically after making Ira scarce once again.

Invidia was an angst-ridden, thirteen-year-old Sammy whose hormones were raging out of control and whose hero complex had begun to lead him in a direction he’d sworn to himself Dean would not follow. “Not with as much of a man whore as you were. If I had to look at one more fucking brunette glowing like the goddamn sun after leaving your room…”

Dean just looked on in shock as Invidia re-lived his disgruntled memories. His brother was jealous of him bringing home chicks? What kind of crappy, anticlimactic Vice was that supposed to be? And how was this even helping to get to the solution? As though reading his mind through his stupefied expression, Invidia merely called him dense as a brick and vanished, leaving him with an unconscious Sam and a vague feeling of guilt.

The next day when Sam awoke disoriented again, Dean had lost a bit of his patience and he lashed out. “You need to start remembering these things, man. Talk to me. This anger, this depression, this jealousy you seem to flip-flop to and from at barely a moment’s notice, this ain’t you, Sammy. It’s weird and I don’t know if have to treat you like one of our normal gigs or what I have to do, but you will be back with me in one piece. Is that clear?”

Sam simply nodded and shuddered in place. He had no way of knowing how to share his mind with these other parts of himself without excruciating pain. He was clearly not ready for whatever they knew and were shielding him from. Dean could see how lost and useless Sam felt. It had shown in the constant teary shine in his normally beautiful eyes. The kicked puppy look he gave Dean each time he regained consciousness and realized he’d lost hours or sometimes entire days was unbearable.

From that point on, when Ira appeared, he would never look directly at Dean. His body, his head, even his eyes would find a way to avoid his gaze, his touch. It was the only way Dean knew that Sam never meant the things Ira came up with and would never have said them that way if he were whole and healthy. He also felt that Ira was mellowing.

Superbia was Sam’s pride. Dean always knew the kid took pride in his looks, hygiene, all of that. He did not, however, realize that Sam’s pride as a hunter was in there too. “All the time you thought Sam was ashamed of you and Dad, he was just crushed that the two of you would never tell him anything. He strove to become great to impress his hero big brother since he could never impress Dad. In the end, he wasn’t good enough for you either.

“He felt like he never fit in anywhere, and then even you stopped treating him like he was special. He simply felt like he had to prove himself all the time. That whole issue with the demon blood? Yeah, it had nothing to do with Ruby other than her telling him how he could save you, prove himself to you. But you couldn’t see past your disgust of that conniving demon. So, he hid it from you ‘til it was too late. Until he was doing more harm to himself and others than good, and he was addicted.”

That memory was still a fresh wound for Dean. It appeared that Sam never received the voicemail from the call his brother had tried before convincing Cass to zap him to his location. Sam had no way of knowing how proud Dean was of him in those crucial moments because both Heaven and Hell had cut them off from each other until all hell had truly broken loose.

Ira was one of the very last to talk about his visual representation, but Dean already assumed he had him pictured. A very wiry, lanky, angry Sammy in his late teens, hating everything about hunting. Right before he’d left for college. He never expected it to be the secretive, brilliant, quiet young man he’d brought with him to help find their father. Ira finally explained to Dean that Vices were the things people tended to tuck away, repress. Expressing anger is what releases it so that it can be dealt with.

Luxuria had been an absolute bombshell. Dean had by now done some research into these names and found out which Vice each of them represented. Lust was for sure not one he’d thought Sam would have been afflicted with. As the Vices had come and gone repeatedly at random, Luxuria, Gula (Gluttony), and Avaritia (Greed) had not yet shown themselves, so he figured they wouldn’t. Sam had always seemed content in his lifestyle of moderation, and he’d always been so generous he would give anyone the last drop of water in the desert.

The physical representation of Sam’s Lust was the eighteen-year-old he’d imagined was so angry with him and Dad that he developed a complex and abandoned them for some ritzy, college-bound, white-collar life. “Sam left because he did not want you hating him over his intense love for you. It had morphed into this uncontrollable yearning that he could no longer hide. If he’d confessed to you before he’d left, I might not be here now. Lucifer would not have been able to use that love to rip me from him. I was the final straw and you were the one to give us the strength to call to you.”

Dean was devastated. Everything that he’d attributed to Sam’s personality had been part of something more, and he’d had no clue. He thought his little brother was just made to be an uptight stick in the mud. At the very least he thought he was just naturally more conservative than Dean. It turns out Sam had been keeping a lot more to himself than just brooding angst. He had romantic feelings or at least a sexual attraction to Dean and he was terrified of it.

“Tell me… Tell me that it was more than just lust. Tell me it wasn’t just some taboo, unhealthy crush that took my brother away for years,” he pleaded, not caring how pitiful he sounded because he’d known about his own vices when it came to his relationship with Sam. He just didn’t think it was possible for them to be something he might have had to face one day.

“Only Sam can tell you that. None of us can occupy the same space as Sam without causing serious damage until we are united properly. You need to talk to him about all of us. You’re his Balance, Dean.”

Bobby called while Sam was taking his first real shower since he’d arrived. The Vices had gone completely silent for two whole days and Sam finally felt decent enough to stand for a few minutes without collapsing. He promised Dean if he felt off in the least he would call him immediately. Dean figured the entities had done all they were going to and wouldn’t be showing up again any time soon. He was also relieved to see that Sam’s physical injuries were healing well.

The older hunter was able to expand upon what Dean had figured out in his research. The mirror magic Dean had witnessed was an unexpected side-effect of the extremely ancient and forbidden ritual that Lucifer had used to torture Sam for nearly a century in the Cage. Due to The Balance being shattered, Sam was unstable and could die if his Vices remained segregated. They could become volatile in their need for validation and his soul would internally combust. In Hell, that might have corrupted him and turned him demonic, but on Earth, a body would literally incinerate from the inside out.

“The thing is, the soul doesn’t feel the physical pain of the ritual,” Bobby explained. “Souls are why humans feel emotions, have consciences. Ripping one apart is extremely difficult and takes immense power. It is excruciating to the human body after even just one piece is taken. Something deeply personal, internal, and intimate must be degraded and flagellated to a specific point of weakness. This would be fatal on Earth’s physical plane. It takes the utmost sadistic, malicious, and sinister mind to even consider using soul-splitting as torture.

“It twists and befouls the soul and deforms and rips through the body in Hell. But, imagine if Lucifer had succeeded with Sam and you bein’ soulmates an’ all. It can kill the physical body on Earth and take that soul as well. Dean, the Devil was tryin’ to kill the both of ya. Soon as your brother is up on his feet, I want you two holed up in my panic room ASAP. No excuses, boys. We gotta get him stabilized.”

Dean sighed into the phone. “Alright, Bobby, I swear we’ll be on our way as soon as we can, but I can’t promise you’ll like what -”

_“Damnit, boy,_ I know more about any of this than you assume to think I know and whether or not I like it ain’t exactly important right now is it? I called the front desk and paid you up through tomorrow. Now get your narrow asses in gear!” _***click***_

“Grumpy sonofabitch,” mumbled Dean as he proceeded to pack his and Sam’s stuff. He started to yell at Sam to hurry the hell up in the bathroom, then thought better of it and instead went to knock on the door.

“Sam?” He twisted the knob and the door opened.

“Yeah, Dean?” The young man was standing on shaky legs, staring at a foggy mirror that he’d just wiped at a spot with his hand. The towel he’d secured around his narrow waist sat low on his bruised hips and hid none of the healing gashes down his back or broad shoulders. Yet, he was still beautiful in Dean’s eyes.

“Bobby called, he’s got a lead. He wants us at his place. I, uh, found some stuff too, and if you’re up to it I’d like to try something before we go. I figure we should get some of this outta the way before we get all the way out there anyway.”

“Uh, alright. Look, Dean, you’re kinda the one holding all the cards right now. So, if there’s something you need me to do, lay it on me man. It can’t possibly be as bad as me going comatose for days.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me,” he mumbled. He looked at Sam’s reflection. “You gotta tell me if this makes any change at all. Good or bad, just stay with me alright?” When Sam nodded in response, Dean turned him around, seating him against the sink. He then looked at Sam directly, eye to eye, protectively and possessively caging him with his arms.

Sam’s breathing quickened as Dean slowly, cautiously leaned in and he gave him a chaste kiss as their eyes lightly fluttered shut. A tear slipped free from Sam’s lashes and ran down his cheek. When they both opened their eyes again, Dean noticed that Sam’s pupils were pulsating. He’d felt more than heard something slide into place in the Balance. Dean had apparently been right when he’d found out about the Virtue of Chastity in his research.

The boys were on the road in record time, even with Sam still injured as badly as he was. He was able to sit in the passenger seat comfortably enough and Dean was able to keep an eye on him. He made sure Sam didn’t seize or blackout again without him knowing it.

Sam had only done that once more when they had gotten close to Bobby’s junkyard. Dean guessed that Ira wanted to impress the point that things were a bit more serious than hiding inside a panic room with a few sigils. Sam had been trapped and tortured for nearly a century with a pissed off Archangel who’d been bested by a technicality of ancient magic after all.

“You know, a few rules would never stop The Morning Star. A bitter, self-serving Archangel had done what no demon would dare. Once he’d succeeded the first time, The Light Bringer committed to taking the time to shred Sam’s soul to pieces when he got bored. To disunite even one piece would have taken months in Hell’s time, so he reveled in taking one at a time; getting to know us. We became physical manifestations of different points in Sam’s life when separated from the Balance. Then Lucifer chose which one he wanted to ‘play’ with. Depending on which Vice he’d taken, he experimented with how Sam’s memories related to each one and used that in his tortures of them. Not all of his torture methods were… simple.

“Lucifer terrifies Sam and he will never need to leave the Cage, never need to break the through Bobby’s wards,” Ira continued. “You are going to have to protect each version of Sam from the individual traumas he inflicted, while making each one of us whole again by pulling that same type of smartass trick you pulled. And it isn’t gonna be as easy as smooching all of us, Prince Charming. Some of us are pissed! Some of us are damaged as fuck! So be ready ‘cuz the next time you see me you won’t like it. But, if you are as smart as he thinks you are, then you got this.”

Dean focused on driving the rest of the way to Bobby’s in silence. He had no response for Ira. He was already dreading what he might have to put Sam through to repair his fractured soul. He didn’t want to even consider the possibility of his efforts not working. He glanced back over at his brother’s now peaceful features and, not for the first time, he admired his attractiveness despite the slowly fading cuts and bruises. He was resolute in the faith he had in Sam. The younger man had not only survived unthinkable tortures, he’d escaped them somehow on his own.

“Don’t worry, Sammy. I am not going to let everything you survived be for nothing. You did the hardest part and came back to me. I ain’t letting you go.”

Bobby was waiting on his porch when the boys arrived just before sunset. He met Dean at the passenger door of the Impala with intent to help him extricate a dazed and exhausted Sam. Despite him being unconscious for the last leg of the trip, Sam’s sleep was plagued by terrors that would not allow him to properly rest and recharge. His physical wounds were gradually healing, but even that was taking its toll on the young hunter.

Dean was able to lift Sam out of the car without much effort. He’d lost quite a bit of weight and the small amounts of food and water Dean was able to get into him were barely keeping him coherent. He’d gone from feeling stable enough to take a shower to nearly needing to be carried into the house.

Bobby instead retrieved their bags from the car to make sure Dean didn’t need to make a second trip. He looked like he himself was barely keeping it together. He couldn’t remember seeing his surrogate sons in such distressful shape and he’d seen John and those boys beat to hell before.

Dean got Sam settled on the couch. He made it look so effortless as he lowered Sam’s thin yet still tall and bulky frame slowly and gently on the cushions. He treated him like fine crystal glass before he went down, stumbling to his knees, and leaning against the makeshift bed. He lay his head back onto his brother’s side and just sat there. He feigned catching his breath, though Bobby knew Dean was making sure Sam’s chest was rising and falling.

“I just need a sec, Bobby. ‘Skinny Sasquatch’ is still a heavy sonofabitch.”

“When’s the last time _**you**_ ate, son? You look about as bad off as Sam.” He paused when Dean merely shifted his eyes toward him. “Look, I know probably more than anyone living, takin’ care of him is your main focus. But if you don’t keep up your strength, you’ll drop that boy right down the stairs. C’mon kid, you’re no good to him this way. We’ll go over what we know while you eat; he can rest here for a bit.”

After his head had risen and fallen a few times to Sam’s rhythmic breathing, Dean let Bobby give him a hand up and they went into the kitchen. He’d had food waiting, thinking at least Sam would need something when they arrived. Dean remembered his hunger after being reassured that Sam was at least resting peacefully and that he would need his strength to take care of him.

Dean told Bobby what he’d been able to find online about the Vices, or Cardinal Sins, and what Sam’s own had told him. They are normally non-corporeal, mistaken as abstract concepts for human behavior. They co-exist in The Balance within every soul with Cardinal Virtues, their opposite counterparts. When Vices and Virtues are imbalanced, you can have people who are extreme in either direction. Every person has the potential to be influenced by their Vices, and every person has it within them to overcome those Vices with their Virtues.

Dean told the older hunter, without going into too much detail, that he figured out how to help Sam with one Vice already. He had ideas on how to move ahead with the remaining ones, but he wanted to make sure there wasn’t some hidden ‘catch’. He hoped that Bobby had gathered more information about just how Sam had made his escape so they could figure out if it was permanent, or if they’d need to prepare to fight the Devil. _Again._

Bobby, ever the source of all things ancient, happened to find out some information about the origins and evolution of the residents of The Balance. They -like Death and the Horsemen of the Apocalypse- existed before Christianity and are actually neutral when not in excess of one or the other. They will most likely exist even after Death eventually reaps God.

The modern incarnations have antecedents that stem from ancient precedents. In early Greek and Roman literature on Ethics and human behavior, Virtues were called Excellences and it was thought that for each one of them, there were two negative Vices at either extreme. Having courage, for example, could make one rash if they had too much, or cowardly if they were deficient.

The neutrality of Virtues being between excess and deficiency was labeled The Golden Mean by Aristotle. His versions of the Excellences were called Courage, Temperance or Self-control, Generosity, Greatness of Soul, Proper response to anger, Friendliness, and Wit or Charm. Many of the labels made it into modern translations. Horace, a Roman writer, celebrated the value of virtue while listing and warning against vices. His first epistles say, “to flee vice is the beginning of virtue, and to have got rid of folly is the beginning of wisdom.”

Christians were the ones to dictate Vices as evils, namely evil thoughts or spirits. The Catholic Church used the concept of the ‘deadly sins’ to convince people to curb their proclivity toward evil before dire consequences and misdeeds could occur. Before Mortal Sin could be committed.

“Lucifer went by these notions when he attempted to strip Sam of everything good in ‘im. He hadn’t taken into account that it increased their individuality and their will. All they needed was for Sam to call out to where he wanted to go, and they brought him via celestial taxi.” Bobby concluded, “These powers, these entities are much more powerful than Lucifer. They left the cage without putting a scratch on it and left it sealed.”

“Man, Luci must've shit a brick when Sam disappeared from the Cage.” Dean felt like that was the first time he’d taken a cleansing breath in days. He didn’t exactly like that he’d moved Sam for almost nothing, but he couldn’t deny he felt safer in the supernatural fortress that was Bobby’s wards and sigils. Now, he felt even better. He went to go check on Sam… and dropped everything when he saw him twitching and sweating.

“Sammy? Shit! Bobby get some cold towels, quick! We might not make it to the panic room if we need to put him in ice.”

Sam’s eyes popped open at the sound of his name, and once he heard Dean mention the panic room he actually panicked. So many thoughts and emotions were showing through his strained expression, and Dean read each and every one. Fear, irrational betrayal and anger, uncertainty and disbelief. He struggled as if he were falling back into the Pit.

“Sammy, listen. You are home. We are at Bobby’s. The panic room was just a precaution for us. I would have been down there, right along with you. I swear, I –”

“N-No, please j-just no!” Sam rasped out as best he could. He knew his fever was making everything worse, but he had to fight through it and try to get Dean to see reason. He never wanted to be locked up against his will again, especially now when what was happening was not even his fault. He felt himself fading, however, and knew that he had no control over what happened next. His eyes fluttered closed, and one of the Vices took over.

“You think that being down there with him is supposed to help something? He thought you were there the first time, telling him just what you thought of him when he was being eaten alive by his addiction! Even now, I bet you and Bobby were off talking _**about**_ him like some problem you can fix. You and John did the same thing half of his life, making him feel like he wasn’t good enough to join you in the ‘Family Business’.” Dean recognized Superbia, Sam’s pride. “He was the best of you then, and continuously proves himself to this day despite what it costs him.”

“Stop! Sammy, you got stay with me. Open your eyes, kiddo.” Dean was determined to get this misconception nipped in the bud once and for all. The complement to Pride was Humility.

Dean acknowledged Sam’s pain that stemmed from him and John excluding him from so much, especially when it concerned Sam and Azazel’s plans for him. He understood Sam’s natural inquisitiveness made him a boundary pusher, made curiosity instinctual. Sam didn’t question directives because he was a bad son or an insubordinate soldier. He did it with the intent to prove himself to his hero brother and larger than life father. He felt like he needed all the details before he could take action.

Dean was the shoot first, ask questions later type. He was lightning quick at determining what type of situation he was in and strategizing his solutions. He was comfortable with gathering just enough intel to make it to the next stage alive. This was where he and Sam were different.

“We were never quite the hunter you are, the mind you are. I admit I didn’t want to lose you to college. I was selfish even though I knew how far you could go. I have to say there is so much I wish I’d done for you, but I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me. I hid my fear that I’d somehow failed you and let you walk out of my life when you were mine to protect.”

Sam locked his eyes onto Dean’s, trying to hear everything he was confessing. He’d never seen his big brother so open and raw. Dean rarely allowed his insecurities and fears to hang on his sleeve like this. He hadn’t really been there taunting him in the panic room, he’d never have done that. Sam had pushed that small sliver of doubt deep down and it pained him like a splinter. He’d never forgiven himself for the demon blood, Ruby, or the apocalypse. But now, here was Dean telling him he was so much more than his transgressions, without bringing in his bravado to overlap it.

“Dean, please,” he begged as tears filled his eyes, “don’t shut me in there. I’ll keep it together I swear, just please…”

“It’s alright, Sam. Scratch the panic room. Bobby figured out we’re not in danger from anything else, okay?” he assured Sam, looking deep into his eyes.

Sam minutely nodded, and his pupils expanded and contracted like the first time. Dean had acknowledged Superbia, he’d also satisfied its need to shield Sam by directly reclaiming that responsibility. He stated outright that Sam belonged to him.

Sam relaxed, though he still had the fever. Dean knew he needed to get him into the ice bath before calling on any other fractured parts of Sam’s soul. Sam helped as much as he could, and they hobbled to the bathroom.

Later, Dean was forced to be none too gentle with his efforts to get Sam out of the freezing water in the tub. Sam had stubbornly gotten it into his head once his fever broke that his ice bath was how he would die. He, or rather, Acedia spoke lethargically about how drastically arctic it had been in the Cage and how Lucifer had ripped and carved into Sam’s corporeal form for decades until he got bored. He’d gotten tired of Sam never giving up hope and constantly using his memories of his brother to anchor him.

That was when he’d decided to do the unthinkable. The devil wanted him to forget, wanted to take his last bit of will. He started with Sam’s best hero-worshipping memories in an effort to steal them from Sam. The pain from the wounds he’d inflicted on Sam’s body was nothing compared to what it felt each time a piece of his soul was broken. The emotional agony within his soul was excruciating, and the way Sam’s past was twisted shattered his mind.

“When Lucifer saw how it killed Sam’s spirit to have me take shape, he was finally satisfied for a while. I tried to tell him it wasn’t worth fighting over,” the dejected Vice lamented, “that at least if the Devil was fine taking out his frustration and madness on me, he may never come looking for more. But Sam just couldn’t justify witnessing his twelve-year-old self experience unimaginable perversions that he would never have in his earthly life. I should have known better, but I just didn’t care.

“Just like I should have known we’d end up back there. I can’t really find it within myself to care about this either.” It stopped talking and Sam’s body sank further under the icy water.

Dean could feel instant anger radiating from deep within as he realized what Acedia insinuated. He snapped out of it immediately when he saw Sam’s head submerge and the young man didn’t react in the slightest. “Dammit, Sam, don’t you dare!” He hoisted his younger brother up by his armpits and pulled until he was lying on the bathroom floor with a lanky, naked, shaking, and sputtering Sam in his arms. His clothes were soaked and freezing, but he didn’t even feel it in his concern for his brother.

“For cryin’ out loud what the hell-?!” Bobby rushed to the bathroom when he heard someone falling to the floor.

“Heya, Bobby. Grab some towels, would ya? I’m having a bit of trouble here.” Dean really couldn’t worry about modesty, or the position he and Sam ended up. He _had_ to reach Sam.

“C’mon, Sammy. Wake up man, I need you to hear me, alright? I am about thirty shades of red with how bad I wanna end Lucifer right now. The only thing keeping me from exploding is the fact that the sonofabitch can’t come after you. You hear me? You may doubt it, but you stranded that asshat down there. It’s you and me, little brother. I don’t care how many times I have to remind you. You’re not allowed to give up on me ‘cuz I’m not giving up on you, ever!”

Sam was cold, but not nearly as cold as he was when he was in the Cage. He realized that he’d let one of those pieces of himself take over again when the next thing he was aware of was lying naked and shivering on the bathroom floor. He could hear Dean, but he couldn’t see him.

Then he noticed he could feel warmth and movement underneath his prone form. His head was resting on Dean’s clothed chest and Sam could feel his heart beating like crazy. He knew he had to let Dean know he heard him. He turned his head toward the sound of his big brother’s voice. It was then that his mind felt clearer than it had in days.

He could sense a part of himself that had been fractured and torn begin to coalesce. It felt like infinite wounds being healed in an instant. His vision cleared and the sight of Dean coming in and out of focus settled him. “Dean…” he sighed before laying his head back down to listen to Dean’s heartbeat. Both men allowed their breathing to level out before Dean shifted them to their sides. There was no way he could stay on that hard-assed floor with Sasquatch on his ribcage.

When Dean noticed Sam come back to him, he felt the realignment in The Balance once again. He was thankful that his research on the Virtue of Diligence paid off, but he was freaking out over how quickly these things were coming. He had no idea whether he would say or do something to trigger another attack. He didn’t want Sam to end up damn near drowning or anything else the next time he was on autopilot, but had no idea how to prevent it.

Bobby came back with towels and blankets, and he placed an old space heater at the bathroom door. Dean gratefully decided he and Sam would just relax there for a bit.

They’d spent only a couple hours on the floor. After Sam had extricated himself from Dean’s iron hold and reassured him that he felt “much better,” he insisted that Dean get up. He’d started remembering how they ended up there. He knew that Dean was still in damp clothes despite the coziness in the room provided by the heater. Plus, he’d become extremely aware of his own nudity under the piles of towels and blankets.

Three days.

It had taken that long before Hell broke loose again. Sam was unable to convince his protective big bro to stop his ‘Nurse Nightingale’ routine, and Bobby had conveniently made himself scarce. For the first time in a long time Baby was in prime condition, and it was as if Sam was Dean's repair project now. He’d never hear the end of it if he tried to leave the safety of Bobby’s place, so no local bars for a while. Sam really had no buffer that he could place between him and Dean, except for the junkyard.

“C’mon, Dean, I feel fine.” Sam disarmed the apprehensive look Dean gave him with the most wounded puppy look he could muster up. His freshly-healed scrapes and scratches and fading bruises helped intensify the effect. “I get it; whatever is going on with me isn’t over yet. I just need a little fresh air, man. I can’t believe you haven’t been bouncing off the walls. You’ve been doing nothing but taking care of me for the better part of two weeks.”

“First thing, Sammy. You know I am never sorry about taking care of you. That’ll never change. Now, I know I’ve been a bit of a spaz, so I understand you wanting a little more than bathroom time to yourself,” he said with a smirk.

Sam rolled his eyes and shook his head, unable to fight a smile. He left for the strange sanctuary of the junkyard jungle.

Sam was indeed feeling claustrophobic from being mostly bedridden. What he hadn’t told anyone was he was also anxious about his memories returning. He realized it after the ice bath incident. He was no longer just fading into black unconsciousness. He began to remember some of the things that had occurred after he’d gotten back to Dean. He’d seen it in flashes as if he was floating outside his body.

While he wandered through the stacked towers of iron, aluminum, rubber, and glass, Sam enjoyed the familiar scents around him and the heat of the sun. He tried to let that calm him and settle the unease he was feeling. But his thoughts kept drifting to all the time he’d lost. Dean had been explaining everything that happened over the last couple days, except for the gory details the Vices had told him.

Sam couldn’t explain it -he understood Dean’s reluctance to overload him- but he couldn’t control the feelings of frustration and anger over not being told everything. It was as if a part of him was screaming in impatient agony that nothing was ever going to change. _“You followed him back into this life! He always expects you to tell him everything, but he can’t seem to respect you with an ounce of information. As if you can’t handle it.”_ The voice made Sam’s head throb. _“If he had told you about his stint in hell -!”_

“NO! Just stop! It wouldn’t have mattered one damn bit!” he screamed, holding his head and falling to his knees. “ _ **NOTHING**_ would have prepared me for any of what I went through! How am I even hearing you right now? Is this what I’ve been doing the whole time? Guilt-tripping Dean about shit he had no control over?

Look, I don’t know if you noticed, but things are changing. I am getting stronger and I don’t need Dean dealing with your bullshit. One thing I know from getting older and wiser is that he had the patience of a goddamn saint when I was twenty-two and pissed off all the time. So, **this** confrontation is between you and _me_. I don’t need you burning me up from the inside anymore. I have Dean and his protection is far less detrimental to my health. It’s time to heal.”

The throbbing in Sam’s skull intensified until he was screaming non-stop in the fetal position.

From inside Bobby’s house, Dean suddenly sensed the shift he’d become accustomed to associating with a realignment in the Balance. Something about it felt wrong this time and without a second thought, Dean was running out of the house and weaving his way through tons of twisted metal.

“No, nononono.” He found Sam on the ground, unconscious. “SAM!”

Catatonic.

Comatose.

Dean’s reason for breathing had been lying in the spare bedroom at Bobby’s for eighteen hours. Dean called Bobby and had him grab as much medical equipment as he could. They were trying to avoid having to insert an IV, but didn’t want Sam to dehydrate after too long. Dean knew that there was only one detached Vice left. He needed to find a way to reach it, and to reach Sam.

He looked so peaceful. It was in complete contrast of the discomfort and despair Dean could sense wafting from him. After twelve more hours of bleak uncertainty, Dean made a judgment call. “I gotta go in after him.”

“What?”

“You don’t still happen to have any of that African Dream Root handy do ya, Bobby?”

“Aw, kid, you know how dangerous that stuff is,” admonished the older hunter. “It’s toxic.” He looked at Dean, but his expression brokered no argument. He was determined to end this _now._

Still, Bobby had to try to talk some sense into him. “Damnit, Dean, there are other ways to dream-walk.”

“Sam is stuck, Bobby. We don’t have time to learn this shit the safe way. If I don’t go in there to get him, he might never come out. He was just trapped in the Cage, I can’t leave him trapped inside his own mind. Not while things are still outta whack and this last Vice could consume him.” He allowed himself to let go of one tear, then sniffed and put up his resolve again. “I can’t,” he said, voice shaking.

Bobby sighed, nodded, and then left to find the Dream Root he had stashed among his vast collection of occult ingredients. While he made the tea in the kitchen, Dean sat next to Sam on the bed. He ran light fingertips across the youthful brow, gently revealing Sam’s closed eyes from underneath Sable bangs. He heart ached with the urgency to see those ever-changing, sunburst-filled, hazel orbs.

“Sammy, from before you could walk or talk, you were mine. Hell, before you were even born. We never needed words. When we looked at each other we always knew what we wanted to say. I carried you from the fire and I wish I’d been able to yank you from the Cage. I’m coming to get you, I just need you to hold on for me, baby boy.”

Bobby came back with the concoction, ready to add the final, main ingredient. He stood by the door watching the only family he had left. He resigned himself to the fact that he knew that one would not thrive without the other. “Now you listen to me, son,” he said as he handed Dean the cup. “I will be right here to make sure you wake up. I’m only giving you a few hours ‘cuz I know you‘ll find ‘im. You just need to lead ‘im out.”

Dean took the cup and added the hairs he’d plucked from his head and Sam’s. “Bobby, I don’t think his body can take much more, so I doubt this would work a second time. If I can’t get him out, I’m staying. I’m sorry.”

He tried to lighten the somber mood. “Plus, it tastes like ass.” He drank the mixture and despite Bobby being there, he curled himself protectively around his brother.

The next thing he knew, he was back in the junkyard where he found Sam. The younger hunter was not there, however, Ira was. He stood there, as if rooted to the spot. Dean immediately went on the defensive. “What the hell did you do to him?”

“Sam was finally able to stay aware and sense us. He confronted me because I was wrong about you. He didn’t want you dealing with me, felt he had something to prove. I simply did what he asked of me. He put me back on his own. You sensed it. Pretty damned ballsy if I say so. He could have spontaneously combusted, the stubborn ass. We must really be in rough shape if you’re here.”

“No shit. Is this your way of making up? You gonna bring me to him?”

“My last-ditch effort to protect without harm. I may be Wrath but being back in my element has put things into perspective. I was a jerk.”

“You were in panic mode, I get it. I’ve dealt with worse attitude from Sammy before. Speaking of, can you get me to him? I’m on a bit of a time crunch,” said Dean, pulling from reserves in his patience. There were more important things at stake than ripping Ira’s lungs out.

Dean watched as the Vice pulled a move reminiscent from Sam’s time with his psychic powers. The area they were standing in seemed to blur and then they were standing outside a small house. Dean looked around to find himself standing alone. He remembered this place. He and Sam were still in high school when their dad rented this house.

_‘Oh shit, this was when Sammy ran away after school.’_ Dean thought to himself. He never did find out why Sam made him search for him for hours, worrying that something had happened to him. _‘I guess it’s better late than never.’_

It was still light outside, so Dean knew this was before he went searching. He hadn’t found Sam until after dark. It made Dean so angry with fear and worry that he hadn’t bothered listening to anything Sam had to say. After that night, their relationship grew very distant.

Dean was mysteriously drawn to the house. He hadn’t been outside at the time, so he had no idea why he found himself walking that way now. He should be watching for Sam, or at least his thirteen-year-old self. As he reached the window that looked out over the front porch, he could see movement through the shabby curtains. He felt a varied mix of emotions when he recognized the scene.

There was seventeen-year-old Dean with a girl with shoulder-length, dark hair. She was straddling him on the couch with half her clothes on, writhing in pleasure from his attentions.

The man outside felt pride and nostalgia, but it was suddenly overshadowed by angst, jealousy, and unbelievable heartache. He felt helpless to it, insignificant and small. He also felt like running; he had to get as far away from this as he could.

He took the long way to the park he and his brother used to go to when there was nothing to do at home. He didn’t want to be found, and he knew that was the first place he’d look. He reached the park as the sun was setting and sat on a swing. He let his heart empty from his eyes. Hot, bitter tears that burned like acid.

Everything froze then, and Dean realized that he’d been taken over. It was Invidia, the Vice of envy. Adult Sam was now sitting on the swing adjacent from young Sammy as Dean stood in front of him. As soon as Sam locked eyes with him, Dean felt a surge of energy. Invidia left him, merging with Sam and the Balance without incident. As history then continued playing in the background, Dean looked at Sam and knew that even though Invidia must have sensed Gratitude among the emotions he was feeling, he needed to communicate it to his bother.

“I won’t ask you why you never told me ‘cuz I know how much of a Grade ‘A’ asshole I was,” he said kneeling to look Sam in the eye. “I’m sure getting to experience your pain -this way, in this place- was an unintended side-effect of having a Vice here, but it really got the point across. Sam, I’m so sorry.”

Sam shook his head and sniffed, trying to hide fresh tears. “It’s fine, Dean, really. I understand why you were pissed. I honestly thought all that was behind me. But this was the memory he used against me after he figured out despondency and anger weren’t enough. He started twisting certain memories to hurt my pride, and then he really got into my head. Just when I thought I couldn’t feel worse about loving you that way, he proved I could.

“He used my overwhelmingly repressed envy and then he used… well, you already know. After he did that, I just couldn’t take it anymore. I knew then that he wasn’t just aiming to destroy me, and I couldn’t let him use me to hurt you. Look, I know why it couldn't, _**shouldn’t**_ , be me. I knew back then. I just... I wish I knew why I was like this. I mean, was it the demon blood? I wish I wasn't the only one who _**wants**_ it to be me. I want you to want me back, so I’m not one hundred percent freak. So I'm not some… _monster_ that you have to escape from using liquor and sex.”

“I had no idea you felt this way. All this time, no wonder you distanced yourself. You’re the most significant person in my life and I am so fucking glad you’re in it. Sam, it’s not the demon blood. I mean, I wasn’t force fed demon blood.” Sam’s eyebrows shot up when he caught what Dean was saying. “We’re soulmates remember? I know we didn’t have time to dwell on it, but I hope you realize just what I was acknowledging and reciprocating in that motel bathroom.” Sam huffed a laugh at the apparently unintended double entendre, and the sight of his dimples told Dean that the worst was over.

“I really hate what happened to you, but that evil sonofabitch put something else into motion he wasn’t counting on. All of this made me focus on what’s important, what I’m grateful for. We have a crap ton of catching up to do, but I’ll spend the rest of our lives making sure we do. If you’re ready to blow this pop stand and live with me, that is.”

“Let’s do this,” Sam said as he leaned forward and cupped his hand behind Dean’s head. He ran his fingers through soft, short hair and brought Dean close enough that their lips grazed each other. “Let’s see if we can have the first time of our dreams, then we’ll wake up and make it real.”

It had been a few months since Sam mysteriously returned in the dead of night. His physical wounds had completely healed. Instead of internalizing his trauma, he turned to Dean when his nightmares resurfaced from time to time. Their relationship was stronger than ever. A certain part of that relationship was kept private, however, and there were searing moments that brought them so close they felt their souls meld.

Ever the skeptic, Dean still wasn’t sure if they had truly seen the last of Lucifer. Anything was possible in their world. Plus, he still wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands. All he knew was that his Sammy was back, and he was whole again. He would see to it that Sam stayed that way.

  
  
  


~~~ END ~~~


End file.
